Endings
by whirlyite
Summary: My second response to the fifth Short-Story Speedwriting Challenge. Endings, of necessity, lead to new beginnings; yet coming to terms with what has ended is never easy. Takes place some time after the events described in my story for last year's challenge response "A Promise Honored".


**ENDINGS**

The two little boats were rocking in the shades, tied to the small pier that jutted out from the garden.

"Gosh, it's so peaceful here."

Andrew Carter's voice, though not by any means loud, rang out in startling contrast to the palpable quiet that hung heavily in the air. He glanced over at his companion, who like him, lay lounging in the comfortably warm sun of a late English afternoon.

"Why did they send us here Colonel? We're not flak happy."

"Speak for yourself Andrew," Colonel Robert Hogan replied good-naturedly. He shifted his position on the wicker chaise as he carefully considered how to answer Carter's question. "I honestly believe they don't know what to do with us."

Carter sighed and looked about. He and the Colonel were relaxing in a small, open courtyard within the garden of a large, ornate manor house in Henley-on-Thames. The house had been leased out to the USAAF as a rest home for battle-weary aircrew. From where they sat, the two men had a magnificent view of the estate's manicured lawn and gardens as they sloped down towards the river's wooded edge to end at the dock where the two small boats danced in the current.

"I still don't understand why they didn't let Richard come with us," sighed Carter, not for the first time.

The Colonel's expression darkened as he answered. "We've burst out of our cocoon, Andrew. We're back in the real world now. Apparently there are still some things that haven't changed."

Carter understood from the note of disgust in the Colonel's voice that he didn't want to discuss the matter further and so he let it drop. He decided to pursue a less controversial subject.

"When will they let us go see Peter?"

"As soon as his condition is upgraded from stable to good, which shouldn't be too long according to the doctors. They want him very well rested so he will be strong enough to receive visitors. I agree with their opinion, so we'll go see him only when the doctors feel he's strong enough. Peter certainly doesn't need a relapse."

"No, he doesn't," agreed Carter. "I've really missed him. It'll sure be great to see him again after, how many months has it been?" He counted off on his fingers, "March, April, it's now May. It's only been two months Colonel!"

Hogan nodded his agreement. "It does seem like it's been a lot longer than that, doesn't it? By the way, when we get the approval to visit Peter, Louis is supposed to meet us at the hospital. It will be nice to see him again as well."

"Yeah," murmured Carter, shaking his head. "Boy! Things sure changed quickly, didn't they Colonel? I mean, first Peter got so sick that we had to send him home and he missed being with us when the camp was liberated. Then they separated us after they debriefed us. And to top it all off, we found out that the President died!"

Carter's voice wavered and then broke a little at the last. The news of President Roosevelt's sudden death had been difficult to accept, especially for the Americans amongst the former inmates of Stalag 13. Many of the men felt the loss of the President as if it were that of a favorite uncle, or in some cases, of a beloved father.

"It's sure going to feel strange without him in office. Do you know that he was President for half my life?"

"Really, Andrew?" The Colonel turned to gaze with new understanding at his former demolitions expert, disquieted to suddenly realize how young Carter really was.

But then again, age and rank were never strict yardsticks within his command crew. No one ever raised an eyebrow when Newkirk led missions, even though he was a mere Corporal. The same was true for LeBeau. Corporal, Sergeant, Technical Sergeant, it didn't matter; the men acted as if rank simply didn't exist. They just worked together efficiently to do whatever was needed to get the job done. And the jobs always got done. And done well.

The Colonel chuckled to himself as he thought of their good-natured disregard for his own rank. He lost track of the number of times he had easily accepted Newkirk's cheery acknowledgment of 'Right-o Gov'nor!', Carter's constant 'You got it boy!' or LeBeau's 'Oui mon Colonel!' in place of the regulation 'Yes sir!" Regulation - his team had been as far from regulation as he was from home right now. And precisely because of that very informality, they had been an easy group to command. He found that he hardly ever had to remind his men of his eagles, as his lead-by-example style naturally inspired the respect, loyalty and obedience required from such an unorthodox outfit.

He glanced over at Carter and wondered how on earth he was going to adjust to not having these men under his direct command. The team had already begun to splinter when Newkirk had to be evacuated to London in early March. LeBeau had been unceremoniously forced to stay in London whilst Hogan and Carter were ordered to Henley-on-Thames. The Colonel had tried to get the little Frenchman permission to accompany them, but was told in no uncertain terms that the home was for the exclusive use of USAAF personnel, no exceptions. That defeat, coupled with the fact that he had been severely countermanded when he tried to keep Baker from being shipped off to a segregated unit, stirred him to an almost unreasoning fury.

So was this how it was going to end? After the interminable debriefing sessions, was his team going to remain separated and then be shunted off back home without so much as a by-your-leave? His men deserved so much better. He reflected on the individual character of each of his men, particularly those few who made up his command crew. It was nearly unbelievable that he had been able to pull such a team of disparate personalities together, much less mold them into a cohesive, effective espionage unit.

It was a small miracle actually, that a team comprised of different nationalities, races and backgrounds had proven so successful, with the men ending up closer than brothers through the shared dangers and deprivations. It made the seemingly indifferent treatment they had received thus far all the more puzzling. Perhaps his men had been temporarily relegated to the backburner due to the Allies' single-minded focus on the relentless final thrust into the crumbling heart of the former Nazi empire. At least, he hoped that's what it was.

However, if it turned out that no one else would honor them, he vowed to himself to do so. He would gather them together and shower them with the accolades they deserved, he would organize the testimonial dinners they deserved, he would hound the brass mercilessly for the overdue promotions each one deserved, he would ensure they received the heartfelt thanks they all so richly deserved. He also vowed to nominate each of his men for the highest award for valor given by each one's respective country. It was the very least he could do.

The sound of Carter's voice suddenly shook the Colonel out of his reverie. He hoped he hadn't been unintentionally rude so he cleared his throat and asked, "Sorry Andrew, what was that?"

"I said I don't have any regrets serving under your command, Colonel, other than the fact that I wasn't home to say good-bye when Grandpa Andy died two years ago."

The Colonel nodded, "We must've been on the same wavelength Andrew. I was just having a few regrets myself."

Before Carter could reply, the sound of a boisterously loud cheer from inside the house startled both of them. The Colonel turned to look back. "What on earth is going on in there?"

Carter jumped up and called, "I'll go see! Be right back!" He hurried to see what the commotion was about. A moment later, he ran back gesturing wildly and yelling, "It's over Colonel! It's over! The war's over! The Krauts have formally surrendered!"

"What? Are you sure?" He jumped up from his chaise so quickly it tumbled onto its' side. He righted it and then grabbed Carter by the arm.

"Yes sir," nodded Carter. "Prime Minister Churchill is broadcasting on the BBC right now!"

"Well come on Andrew! We can't miss this!" Colonel Hogan slapped Carter on the back then pulled him along with him as he headed into the house. He felt quite a bit rejuvenated upon hearing the wonderful news of the war's end. Perhaps he had been too pessimistic, perhaps the brass hadn't forgotten them after all, perhaps now his team would be accorded the honors they so richly deserved.

If not, may God have mercy on their souls!

* * *

_A/N - See "Masters of the Air" by Donald L. Miller, pages 213-215 for more information on the English manor home "Flak Farms" established by the USAAF._

_The story behind Carter's Grandpa Andy was the subject of my previous tale "Ad Perpetuam Memoriam"._


End file.
